Exiles (Aaron Falk #3)(5)

“Not too much. Be a good influence.”

“We wanted someone we trusted.” Rita had smiled at him. “So who better?”

Later, when Raco had gone to the bathroom, Rita had scraped her dessert bowl empty, then pushed it aside.

“So, the thing is”—she’d leaned in a little—“his parents and grandparents were quite religious. He might be lapsed, but you can never totally get rid of it. Runs quite deep, you know? He’ll play down this godparent thing, but it actually means something to him.”

“I know. I’m honored. Genuinely. I didn’t expect this.”

Rita had looked at Falk across the empty plates, her face a little sad. “You really didn’t, did you? Even after everything.”

“Well, it’s just that you have so many people—”

“That’s true. But we wanted you.” She’d taken his hand, placing it on her stomach. “It’s not like the movies, I’m afraid. And fair warning, it’s more church than I find ideal, personally.”

“Noted. But still up for it.” Under his palm, Falk could sense the future Henry Aaron Raco stirring, and felt a protective surge. “Thanks, Rita. I’ll do my best for you all.”

“We know you will.”

Had he really done his best? Falk wondered now, as thirteen-month-old Henry regarded him with nothing warmer than suspicion. He’d had good intentions. He’d driven out to the Marralee Valley last year for the christening, fully ready to play his part, but then everything had been derailed. When he’d gotten back home to Melbourne, work had been manic, and sometimes he’d blink and find whole months had gone by and he hadn’t once spoken to the Racos.

Okay, he thought, smiling at Henry. Starting now.

Henry slid his dark little eyes away, as though embarrassed on Falk’s behalf.

“Ignore him.” Raco laughed and plonked a sun hat on his child’s head. “Grab a seat.”

Falk pulled up the chair next to Rita, while Eva lolled against the table beside him, fiddling with a glittery hair clip. Eva was big for five, with her mum’s curly hair but her dad’s eyes. She kept stealing glances at Falk, a little overwhelmed by his presence. Her parents had once mentioned that it had been Falk who’d given her the doll that had been her constant companion for the past few years. That, coupled with the fact that she only saw Falk in person on rare occasions, had given him something of a Santa Claus allure.

“Watch the table, sweetheart,” Rita said as Eva leaned in to slip Falk the glittered hair clip and nearly knocked over Rita’s water glass.

“Thanks very much, Eva.” Falk took the clip and moved the glass. Beneath it was the printed flyer Rita had been looking at. Kim Gillespie’s face smiled up from the paper.

The photo had been taken in sunlight, and the woman’s dark brown hair had a sheen to it. She had slightly rounded features that made her appear a little younger than her thirty-nine years, and she looked happy in the photo. Falk wondered when it had been taken.

“He’s been out there for a while,” Rita murmured suddenly, and Falk glanced up in time to see Raco nod.

The pair both had their eyes trained on the vines stretching out below. At first the space appeared empty but, following their gaze, Falk could now see the shape of a man moving along the rows. He was alone and walking at a slow pace. He stopped at a fence post, something unseen catching his attention, then after a long moment continued on.

“How is your brother?” Falk said, and Raco and Rita exchanged a glance.

“Charlie?” Raco rubbed his chin. “Yeah. He’s not bad. Considering.”

Falk nodded. If there was one person likely to attract even more questions than the spouse of a missing person, it had to be the ex-partner. However amicable the parting of ways was said to have been.

Charlie Raco and Kim Gillespie had shared a seventeen-year-old daughter and an on-again, off-again relationship, which had sparked to life with a teenage infatuation, bumped along for two decades, and finally fizzled out for good five years ago. A co-parenting arrangement and division of assets had been mutually agreed without the need for either party to engage a lawyer. Falk knew this, because everyone knew it now. The details of the relationship had been rehashed and picked over at length after last year.

Falk turned back to the vines, but the rows once again appeared empty. He couldn’t see where Charlie Raco had gone. He reached out instead and picked up the flyer from beside Rita’s glass.

“Zara got them made up,” Rita said.

Falk nodded. The seventeen-year-old. He cast his eye over the information. All the important stuff was there. She’d done a good job. “And what’s the plan tonight?”

“The festival’s agreed to do a minute’s silence for the anniversary,” Raco said. “Plus an appeal on the main stage.”

“Appealing for what exactly?” The question came out more bluntly than Falk had intended, and he rephrased. “I mean, are there doubts? I thought after they found her shoe it was pretty much—”

“Not doubts,” Rita said quickly. “But questions, I suppose. About Kim’s state of mind on the night.” She glanced toward the house, and Falk guessed that Kim’s older daughter was inside somewhere. “But we’re trying to manage Zara’s expectations.”